


Haven’t Got the Heart to Stand Those Memories

by Janatee



Series: Captain Hill [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2487173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janatee/pseuds/Janatee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve hasn’t gotten used to the pain, and Maria finds herself unsure of what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Captain Hill Week prompt "Album" and was originally posted on soufflesimmons.tumblr.com
> 
> Set right after The Avengers

Maria Hill knocked on the door of apartment 4B.

“Hello?” she called.

No response.  She activated his comm.

“This is Agent Hill. Come in.”

Static.

“Talk to me, Rogers.”

More static.

 

She looked around with a quick twist of her neck. Nobody nearby. She jumped in the air and landed a solid kick on the door. _Snap!_ The door stood still for a moment, then slowly creaked open. She drew her gun, stepping softly through the living room.

 

She spied Rogers’ comm on a coffee table.

 _Idiot,_ she thought _._ She turned a corner and took in her surroundings. Standard S.H.I.E.L.D., furnishings; neutral color scheme, minimal metal, lighting that strategically illuminated every corner. The only things he’d added were a few books to the shelf. She crept towards it, expected _Pop Culture Through The Centuries_ or _Smartphones For Dummies_.

 

She glanced through a few of the titles: _American War History Volume IV, A Guide to Modern Weapons, Spies and Secrets: An Insiders Look at S.H.I.E.L.D._ Interesting. But she could worry about that later.

 

She ventured carefully down the hallway, hearing faint music coming from one of the rooms.

"Rogers,” she called, rapping lightly on the door. There was no response, just the faint echo of music through the wooden frame.  

"Are you in there, sir?"

Nothing.

 

When she cracked the door open, the music grew loud. It was bright and old-timey. A song that belonged in a black-and-white movie, something where everyone is happy and guy gets the girl.

 

She opened the door the rest of the way. Rogers was inside. She'd never seen him like this before. His brows furrowed over closed eyes and he bit down had on his lower lip in deep concentration. He was dancing to the lively tune, hands stretched out to accommodate an imaginary partner. His feet tried to keep up with the rapid pace, but fumbled time and time again.

 

The song hit an especially fast section, and he couldn’t take it. He toppled to the ground, letting his body free fall. He hit the ground with a soft thump and just laid on the ground, grinding the heels of him hands into his eyes and mumbling softly to himself.

 

Maria glanced back down the hallway, at the open front door, then back at Rogers. He sat still for a while, arms spread out on the rug, eyes boring into a spot on the ceiling. As she watched and waited, the music changed. Still old, all slow and sad. The kind of song you’d listen to in the middle of the night when there was nothing left.

 

_It begins to tell, 'round midnight, midnight._

_I do pretty well, till after sundown,_

_Suppertime I'm feelin' sad;_

_But it really gets bad,_

_'Round midnight._

 

Tears formed in his eyes and spilled down his fragile face. Now that she was positive she needed to leave, she couldn’t make herself move.

 

_Memories always start 'round midnight_

_Haven't got the heart to stand those memories,_

_When my heart is still with you,_

_And ol' midnight knows it, too._

 

More tears spilled down his face. The singer kept going, sorrows piling on top of each other. Maria was frozen.

Rogers sat up suddenly, and Maria shrank behind the wall. After a few seconds, she looked back into the room. He hadn’t noticed her.

He had forced his features to be stoic, and was untying his shoes. But the tears kept coming and coming.

 

_Let our hearts take wings' 'round midnight, midnight_

_Let the angels sing, for your returning._

_Till our love is safe and sound._

_And old midnight comes around._

_Feelin' sad, really gets bad_

_Round, Round, Round midnight_

 

As the song concluded, what had been silent tears turned into uncontrollable sobs. He put his head in his hands, running his weary fingers through his hair, choking and wheezing and crying. Maria suddenly realized how young he really was. She backed out slowly, closing the door with a soft click.

The music stopped.

She sprinted back through the hall, past the bookshelf, and out the front door. She lifted her first as if about to knock just as Steve opened the door. His eyes were a raw red.

“Fury sent this over,” she said, holding out her armful of files.

“Thanks,” he said.

***

The next day she came back.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling as he opened the door, “What brings you here again?”

“I owe you an apology, Rogers,” she says firmly.

“What for?”

“I came in yesterday for your own security, but I stayed longer than was appropriate.”

"Don’t worry about it," he said. "It’s not a problem.”

"Good," she said. There was an awkward pause.

“I know the circumstances aren’t easy,” she said, “But you’ve exceeded my expectations. Maybe I should’ve listened to Coulson.”

“Thanks,” he said.

 

Out of words she knows how to say, she gives a polite nod and a “Later, Rogers.”

 

Maybe there was more to the Captain than she’d thought.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the Captain Hill Week prompt "Last Call" and was originally posted on soufflesimmons.tumblr.com

Steve clutched the locket they’d given him, tracing the outline of Peggy’s face. A photograph, that’s all that was left of the woman he knew. It was a strange thing, so small, but so precious, preserving a moment a lifetime away. In the few minutes Steve experienced between the old world and the new, Peggy had lived out her entire life. Days of war, peace, trials, joys. A million little things gone by: gentle laughs, sips of coffee, and tubes of that bright red lipstick. All used up and gone.

 

The world “lived” was so painfully past tense; sad not that it was over, but in that he’d missed it. He wasn’t there to share her joys, lighten her pain, experience life with her. She’d made it fine without him; of course she would. It was selfish, and he knew it.  Ruminating only brought him down, and he had work to do.

 

He stared at the small piece of her that time had preserved. His pain spiraled into darker places this time of night, but he didn’t try to stop it this time. He just sat pathetically on the floor, obsessing over a useless antique.

 

Agent Hill’s familiar knocking sounded out the door, and Steve dropped the locket in surprise. He jumped on to the couch, kicking the locket underneath the coffee table.

“Director Fury wants you to-Rogers?” she said.

She looked at him with the concern of a fellow soldier.

“Yes, Agent Hill?” he said, keeping his voice even.

“Are you alright?”

“Just can’t sleep,” he said.

“Should I tell him-”

“No, I’ll go,” he said, staring at the floor in from of him.

“I don’t think you’re in any shape to help him with anything,” she said firmly, placing her hands on her hips.

“I’m fine, I just…” he trailed off.  

“Don’t bother faking it,” she said, walking over and sitting down next to him, “I know you’re not ready right now.”

 

A long silence ensued as they each tried to think of something to say. Maria was the first to speak.

“I’ve seen a lot of good agents in my time, but nobody with the standards you’ve set for yourself. You’re not a hero, you’re a human.”

There was another long silence, and Steve sighed.

“Thanks,” he murmured, “But I can’t make excuses when there are lives at stake.”

“That’s Fury talking,” she said.

“Fury’s right,” he replied, “My past is past, and I have to keep going.”

He glanced at the locket, saw her watching his gaze, and quickly looked away.

 “You’ve made a lot of good calls this past week,” she said, “But this isn’t one of them.”

“Neither was crashing the plane,” he replied, “But that call was supposed to be my last.”

 

 

He cringed as he realized exactly how that sounded. The conversation lapsed again, and he silently berated himself.

“I realize it’s not my place to say anything,” said Maria after a few minutes, “And I might end up sounding more obnoxious than anything else, but just because something started in the past doesn’t mean it’s not still here.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he replied.

“Carter founded S.H.I.E.L.D. She isn’t gone, Steve. She believed in something enough to make sure it lasted long after she did. Everything you see here is a direct result of what she did, because of the person she is.”

Steve watched her carefully, but didn’t say anything.

“Who knows how many lives she’s saved? People who go on to save others, raise families, make art, design computers. Everything you see here, every plane, every soldier, none of it would have happened without her.”

He stared resolutely forward.

“You’re right,” he said. He bent down, picked up the locket from the floor, and placed it carefully in his pocket.

“Try running,” she said, “Somewhere that’s not the S.H.I.E.L.D. complex. It takes your mind off things.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” he said.

She got up and walked towards the door.

“Agent Hill?” he said.

“What?”

“Thank you.”

“Glad to help,” she replied, “But don’t expect me to do this again; I’m not really the inspiration type”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, with a hint of a smile.


End file.
